


The One Where They All Go Camping

by infalliblefandoms



Series: Friends Verse [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infalliblefandoms/pseuds/infalliblefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two cars, 19 friends, one weekend. Or the story of how les amis return to nature to escape the bloody heat.<br/>Includes: surprise cuddling, ten pin bowling and a tyre-swing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where They All Go Camping

It began, as all things did, with one of Courfeyrac’s bright ideas. 

It was summer, it was sweltering, it was sticky, and everyone was in a perpetual state of grumpiness.

This was noticeable in all of them bar Enjolras, of course, who was grumpy all year round.

It was a Friday night and they were crowded into the Musain.

“Jesus it’s hot. I think I’m dying. JOLY, I’M DYING! Wait, wait, wait, I have an idea…!”

Everyone paused, genuine fear in their eyes.

“We should go swimming!”

Courfeyrac’s exclamation was met with a resounding cry from Bahorel.

“HELL YES! VACATION!”

There was some raucous applause, a few enthusiastic shouts and then a call for another round.

Enjolras had tried to protest, he really had, but even Combeferre was on board - calmly rationalising the benefits of a weekend away, arguing that the heat was making them all significantly less productive anyway, and what harm could it really do? 

“I mean, _come on, Enjolras,_ we don’t all have an immunity to sweating… just because you were blessed with unfairly exceptional genetics.”

The last part was Courfeyrac.

  


So that was how they found themselves, a week later, squeezed unceremoniously into two cars, and most likely breaking a multitude of laws and road safety guidelines.

Musichetta drove half of them in her beat-up people mover, and Combeferre was behind the wheel of the second vehicle.

Neither arrangement was more precarious than the other - the first car requiring Gavroche to sit wedged in the gap between the two middle seats, and the second had one more passenger than it did seats, requiring Jehan to effectively sit in Courfeyrac’s lap, an arrangement neither of them seemed too unhappy about.

For the sake of better understanding the road-trip dynamic, the complete seating arrangements are as follows:

In Musichetta’s seven seater, Joly sat in the passenger street, as Bossuet could not be trusted with navigation, and the latter sat in the second row with Bahorel, Gavroche on the floor between them. Marius, Cosette and Feuilly shared the back seat.

Combeferre’s overflowing car had Enjolras ( _obviously_ ) riding shotgun, and Grantaire behind him (a poor strategic move, in hindsight). Eponine had the unfortunate luck of being seated in the middle, with Courfeyrac and Jehan squished together behind Combeferre.

Their destination was half a days drive out of Paris, a camping site on the banks of one of the Seine’s smaller tributaries. It was a spot tried and tested by the group, originally discovered by Bahorel whose love of camping only gave more plausibility to the belief that he was secretly a lumberjack.

It was secluded, well out of reach of tourists. Enjolras had complained about cellphone reception, and not being able to check his email. Grantaire had grinned mischievously and kicked the back of his seat.

Jehan was sighing happily and mumbling something about “the road less travelled” whilst Courfeyrac played with his hair.

The other car was a little more chaotic. Bahorel and Bossuet were engaged in some manner of contest, swatting at each other over Gavroche’s head. Joly kept glancing back anxiously, apparently worried about Bossuet’s health.

Marius kept requesting toilet breaks (“Guys _please,_ I just have a really weak bladder!”) and Cosette and Feuilly were playing an increasingly competitive game of I-spy.

Musichetta had Joly lean across the console to massage her temples.

  


They arrived late afternoon, pulling into the campsite just as the orange glow of sunset was filtering through the trees.

Bahorel whooped and attempted a cartwheel (Cosette gave him a gold star for effort) when they found the entire campsite empty.

“Whole place to ourselves!” he cheered, jumping on Feuilly’s back and propelling them both into the undergrowth. 

Combeferre started issuing orders, delegating jobs and splitting them into teams of tent-putter-uppers, wood-gatherers, fire-starters and car-unloaders.

Courfeyrac got distracted from his duties and “fell” into the river.

Despite this, they were an efficient team, and the tents were set up and the fire blazing within an hour.

The sun had sunk dangerously low, and the cool dusk air was a relief to all but Courfeyrac, who was damp and shivering. He received no sympathy from Enjolras or Combeferre, but Jehan brought out a blanket for him.

Grantaire, true to form, produced the beer, and soon they were all happily settled around the fire - telling stories, laughing, discovering Gavroche’s unfortunate penchant for pyromania.

“Ok, so tent assignments” Combeferre announced.

There was a collective groan.

“Bahorel, Feuilly, Ponine, Gavroche, Courfeyrac and myself in the big one. Jehan, you’ll be sharing with Cosette and Marius. Joly, you guys set? Good. And Enjolras has his own which his probably best because we all know what a violent snorer he is.”

Enjolras scowled mutinously at everyone’s snickers and Combeferre’s teasing smile.

Grantaire looked confused.

“Um… am I to sleep on the river bank then or what?”

Combeferre frowned.

“Didn’t I give you a place?”

“Nope”

“Oh” he scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Well the main tent’s already dangerously full.. Cosette and Marius’ tent is technically for two so with Jehan it’s already a squeeze…”

“Why is it _always_ me?” Grantaire sighed, but there was no real anger behind his frown. And the woe-is-me act was broken when he proceeded to stick his tongue out at Combeferre.

“Musichetta? Are you guys happy to accommodate?”

But Grantaire jumped in before she could answer.

“Oh _hell_ no. I do not need to be in the same tent as _that_. God knows what goes on with those three.”

Bossuet chuckled and waggled his eyebrows in Grantaire’s direction.

Combeferre was beginning to look amused.

“Well I guess that leaves us with one last option…”

The rest of the group had caught on, and Grantaire almost did a spit-take. But he stopped himself. That shit was undignified.

Enjolras noticed eyes on him and glanced up.

Combeferre, for all his quiet dignity, looked as if he were trying not to laugh outright.

“Enjolras, would you be so kind as to take in our loveable vagrant?”

The blonde looked scandalised.

Eponine was cackling.

“Oh come on Enjy, take pity on the poor orphan child. Look at him, so tragic. You wouldn’t leave him to freeze, would you?”

Grantaire had the decency to at least _feign_ discomfort. He was, in fact, privately rejoicing. And the slab of beer a few feet away was starting to look like his very best friend.

“You mean.. my tent? Him? _Really_?”

Grantaire chuckled darkly.

“Promise I don’t snore, Apollo. Even if I did, I’m sure it’d be no match for your own.”

Grantaire winked and Enjolras narrowed his eyes.

He tried his pleading eyes on Combeferre, but there was no sympathy there, only a poorly suppressed smile.

Enjolras huffed.

“Fine. Whatever.”

They were all attempting to look a little less pleased with themselves, but Grantaire was pretty sure they weren’t really trying _at all._

He rolled his eyes and tried not too look to pleased himself. He was, in fact, completely nonchalant about the whole affair. Completely.

Enjolras wouldn’t meet his eye.

  


A few hours later and the group had shrunk by half.

Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta could be heard giggling in their tent, and Cosette had taken a half-unconscious Marius to bed. 

Eponine had forced Gavroche into the tent with them. He’d been trying valiantly to combat his drooping eyelids so he’d be allowed to stay up, but Eponine was unrelenting.

Combeferre had retired soon after.

The fire had died down to burning embers when Enjolras announced that he was going to bed.

Bahorel, Feuilly and Courfeyrac bid him goodnight before turning back to their makeshift game of ten-pin bowling, using pinecones and empty beer bottles.

Jehan looked on from where he was curled up in his chair, swathed in blankets. He’d traded in beer for hot cocoa.

Grantaire was bored, Eponine had disappeared and he had no interest in bowling.

He followed Enjolras from the campfire and towards their tent, the furthest away, of _course_.

Grantaire tripped three times on various pegs and ropes. _Fuck_ , he hadn’t even had that much to drink.

Enjolras had disappeared into the tent, and it was then that Grantaire noticed just how goddamn small it was.

Well _shit._

He crawled in through the canvas flap and collided with Enjolras’ back. Which was shirtless. Grantaire resisted the urge to run his hands over it and decided instead on gaping like an idiot, half inside the tent and half out.

Thankfully Enjolras didn’t turn around, just stiffened slightly at Grantaire’s proximity.

“Hurry up, it’s freezing outside. You’re letting the cold in.”

Grantaire sighed.

“My apologies, oh Great One”

He zipped up the tent behind him and tried to manoeuvre himself around the small space without bumping into Enjolras.

He was mostly successful.

“So…” he drawled “how do you wanna do this?”

Enjolras turned to look at him then. Well, Grantaire felt him turn, he couldn’t really see shit.

“You stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine. I would’ve thought that it was pretty simple.”

“Right. Well… slight problem. I may or may not have forgotten to pack a sleeping bag.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Sorry?” Grantaire offered. But he was smiling into the darkness.

Enjolras could definitely tell.

“It’s not funny. You’re an idiot.”

He sighed again and mumbled something along the lines of “did not fucking sign up for this…”

“Look on the bright side, we won’t get cold. Sharing body heat and all that.”

Enjolras groaned.

Grantaire decided he liked the sound. Even in the wrong context.

“I promise I’m not that repulsive, really.”

“I don’t think you’re repulsive.”

“What? Really?”

Grantaire was glad he was seated, because he suddenly felt a little unsteady.

“Why would I think that? Yes, I disagree with almost everything that passes through your lips, and I think that you drink too much, and I hate it when you mouth off, but I’m not repulsed by you.”

Grantaire “ _hmmphed_ ”

“Well sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

This was definitely a bizarre conversation to be having in a cramped tent with only one sleeping bag and a shit load of sexual tension. Well, on Grantaire’s side anyway.

Enjolras had unzipped the sleeping bag fully, so it could be used as more of a blanket.

Grantaire tried to divest himself of his clothing with as much dignity as he could manage. It proved to be a difficult task.

He heard Enjolras swallow loudly, and chose to ignore it.

Down to his underwear, he lay down onto the thin blow-up mattress and tried not to touch Enjolras lest he invade his personal bubble or whatever.

He angled himself away and tried to even out his breathing.

“Good night” Enjolras whispered. Even whispering he sounded stern. Grantaire almost felt like laughing.

“Night”

He was conscious of every tiny movement Enjolras made beside him, and fell asleep listening to the sound of his steady breathing.

  


Meanwhile, Courfeyrac had grown distracted and left Bahorel and Feuilly to their bowling. He looked for Jehan, but the poet seemed to have disappeared from his sentinel post by the campfire.

He frowned, acknowledging the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that he felt whenever Jehan wasn’t in his sight.

“He’s by the river”

Courfeyrac glanced back to see Feuilly giving him a look. It was one of those _knowing_ looks. Courfeyrac decided he didn’t like it.

He couldn’t stop the blush that rose to his cheeks. Wait, what? Why was he blushing? Fucking Feuilly and his knowing looks.

“Thanks” he mumbled, thoroughly confused by the entire situation.

He found Jehan exactly where Feuilly had promised he’d be. He was skipping stones across the moonlit water.

Courfeyrac took in his outfit and decided that apparently even camping wasn’t a good enough reason for Jehan to dress like a normal human.

His jeans of pastel florals were scuffed at the knees and streaked with dirt. He was wearing one of his old sweaters, overlarge, with holes in the cuffs that he liked to stick his thumbs through. His scarf was bulky and striped, Courfeyrac couldn’t discern the colours, but could see the way Jehan had tucked his nose into the knitted wool around his neck.

He smiled fondly at his friend’s almost ethereal silhouette.

“Hey”

Jehan spun around, startled and almost lost his footing on the riverbank.

Courfeyrac caught him by the arm, steadying him.

“Shit Courf, warn a guy. You interrupted my moonlight reverie.”

“Sorry” Courfeyrac smiled sheepishly, watching the way Jehan’s hair was shifting in the breeze. It was shoulder length and silvery. It was always lighter in the summertime. He liked it. But he also liked it in winter when it was almost strawberry blonde. 

Huh. When had he started to pay so much attention to the Many Face’s of Jean Prouvaire’s hair?

“That’s alright.”

His smile was small and warm and Courfeyrac had that feeling in his belly again.

He could see the freckles across Jehan’s face, illuminated by the moonlight.

“It’s cold, you should get to bed. You’ll freeze out here by the water.”

He slung an arm around his friend's shoulders and tried to act casual.

“Fine, fine. Though you should know that I’m probably going to miss out on having some ground breaking idea born of moonlight and stars and river currents. My greatest work might’ve been inspired by tonight Courf, and I’m holding you accountable.”

“Yeah alright, young Shakespeare. I believe you. Now, to bed.”

Jehan let himself be led.

When they reached the main tent, Jehan hesitated.

“Do you… I mean, would you want to maybe.. keep me company?”

“You want me to sleep with you?” Courfeyrac asked, before really wanting to die.

“Shit, no. That was not what.. you know what I meant. But yeah, alright. You don’t mind? Ep’s a kicker anyway. Glad to be out of there…”

Rambling incoherently was always a great sign.

But Jehan was laughing quietly.

“Great. Come on then…”

So that was how Courfeyrac found himself creeping into Cosette and Marius’ tent, trying not step on any limbs and giggling when Jehan whacked him in the face with his sleeve as he was getting changed.

Jehan was happy to share a sleeping bag, so they fell asleep curled around each other, under the pretence of keeping warm, Courfeyrac’s nose buried in the softness of Jehan’s hair.

  


‘Jesus, _shit_ , why must those motherfucking birds insist on being so goddamn loud?’

These were Grantaire’s first thoughts upon regained consciousness the next morning.

After that he experienced a complete system failure. Total neural shutdown. Well, almost. Unfortunately some parts of his anatomy retained the ability to function perfectly.

The cause: he was being _cuddled_. 

Borderline groped, if he was being completely honest.

Enjolras’ leg was completely looped around his waist, and his arm was thrown around Grantaire’s chest, hand splayed above his heart. Great. Now its erratic and frankly alarming rate of beating would never escape Enjolras’ notice.

 _Enjolras_ , whose face was buried into the back of Grantaire’s neck.

Grantaire pretended he couldn’t feel Enjolras’ crotch pressed against his ass. He pretended he didn’t feel anything. He pretended he didn’t exist. _Fuck._

I mean, granted, he dreamt of this shit, but not when it was done unconsciously. And yeah, he kind of never wanted this moment to end, but on the other hand, Enjolras was going to wake up at some point, and that was a frankly terrifying thought.

Grantaire was forced to lay still and fret for a good half an hour before Enjolras stirred.

He stretched and rearranged himself around Grantaire, somehow managing to get closer. Grantaire could feel his bare chest pressed up against his back and _goddamn_ if he wasn’t going to jerk off to the memory for months.

Shit, when this whole ordeal was over, he was going to find himself a nice secluded spot amongst the trees he was going to do it then and come harder than he ever had in his life.

Enjolras _mmmmm’d_ into his neck and the vibration sent shivers down Grantaire’s spine.

The hand on his chest came to life, sliding across the bare skin before apparently realising _whose_ bare skin it was and making a hasty retreat.

Suddenly all the delicious warmth was gone and Grantaire was left curled on his side, wide eyed, shivering and painfully hard.

“Sorry” came a voice from the other side of the tent… about two feet away.

Enjolras sounded husky and his voice was rough and it was the most deliciously erotic thing Grantaire had ever heard in his life.

“No, that’s fine. Totally fine. No complaints from me.”

Grantaire praised himself for remembering how to make sounds with his mouth, and then kicked himself for his specific choice of words.

Then Enjolras chuckled. He _laughed._  

Grantaire lost all grip on reality in that moment. He could feel an existential crisis coming on.

His first response was to roll over and face Enjolras. Which was a mistake. The biggest mistake. Ever.

Because Enjolras looked positively debauched. Bed-head, lips bitten red, flushed cheeks… also he was half naked.

Grantaire heard himself moan.

It was then he decided he would rip his tongue out and shove it up his own ass. Oh god, shoving things up his ass was _not_ a helpful train of thought.

Enjolras had an expression on his face, but Grantaire was at a loss as to what it was.

All he knew was that it wasn’t one of the usual reserved-just-for-Grantaire looks - disgust, annoyance, disappointment, frustration, and his personal favourite, i’m-so-done-with-your-shit-right-now-go-home.

Grantaire had never before experienced this level of mortification. And that was a big fucking statement. He was the undisputed champion of Making a Dick of Yourself.

Enjolras was still looking at him, with that expression. Grantaire tried very hard to focus on his face, and not on the toned chest or the fucking distracting obliques.

He was in _so_ much trouble.

Enjolras cleared his throat.

“We should probably get up. I can smell breakfast.”

Grantaire made a noise. So he’d lost his ability to form sentences again, perfect.

But it sounded enough like an affirmation that Enjolras was satisfied.

He threw on a t-shirt and pulled on his jeans and only paused for a moment before unzipping the tent and stepping out, careful to avoid stepping on any of Grantaire’s limbs.

Grantaire breathed out.

  


The gods were not with Grantaire on this particular morning.

He had dressed and followed Enjolras out of the tent and found, to his complete and utter dismay, that there was, in fact, no one else up.

 _‘I can smell breakfast’_. Yeah, good one.

Grantaire could definitely smell it now, though. Enjolras had fired up the camp stove and was cooking bacon and eggs and sausages and Grantaire’s mouth was positively watering.

Partially due to the smell of bacon, and mostly because of Enjolras’ ass in those jeans.

He busied himself with rebuilding the fire so they could toast bread over it. He studiously ignored Enjolras’ presence. It was best for everyone involved.

Courfeyrac and Jehan woke up next, which was strange for two reasons. A) being that Courfeyrac _never_ gets up before ten o’clock, and B) wait, why was Courfeyrac emerging from Jehan’s tent at all?

But Grantaire only though on it for a moment, he had his own problems to stew over.

Gradually the dead began to awaken, and Grantaire decided that he loved camping. If only because he got to see how terrible everyone was in the morning.

Marius sat by the fire bleary eyed whilst Cosette made him coffee. 

Eponine’s bed-hair was a sight to behold - he decided that she looked very much like a wildling woman straight out of an episode of Game of Thrones. Grantaire told her so, and that earned him a shoe in the face.

Combeferre looked relatively normal, and he moved straight to Enjolras to help with the breakfast preparations. 

Jehan was attempting to tame his knotted hair, and was having a lot more success than Eponine. Cosette, of course, had no such problems.

Gavroche was his usual boisterous self - just a little more wild-looking, his wavy blonde mane sticking up in ways that defied all the laws of physics.

Musichetta was busy massaging the kinks out of Bossuet’s neck, who’d had the misfortune of sleeping on a tree root all night and could hardly move as a result.

Joly was amusing himself with a dispenser of anti-bacterial wipes.

Bahorel and Feuilly were not very interesting at all, just a little sleepy, though Feuilly’s auburn curls were dishevelled in an unfairly charming manner.

Once breakfast was served, the group began to enliven, and soon enough everyone was fully awake and chatting happily, looking positively refreshed by fresh air and nature’s charms.

Grantaire was more than a little surprised when Enjolras chose the seat next to him to sit down and eat.

“So, everyone get a good night’s sleep?”

Combeferre posed the question with absolutely no hint of amusement or connotation, but Enjolras and Grantaire both blushed profusely.

Thankfully it went unnoticed.

“I may be a little beaten and bruised thanks to our dear Eponine, but other than that I slept fine”

Eponine smirked at Bahorel around her toast and rolled her eyes.

“Actually our tent was kind of roomier than I thought it would be, I mean it’s not _that_ big and there were six of us…”

There were a few murmurs of agreement and apparently no one had noted Courfeyrac’s absence.

Grantaire raised his eyes at Jehan, and the poet smiled back serenely, betraying nothing.

The remainder of breakfast passed with little consequence and whilst Jehan and Cosette washed up, ideas for the day’s activities were thrown around.

“Obviously we’re going swimming”

“Yeah, we’ve got to rig up that tyre swing! I found the perfect branch for it…”

“We should go exploring, I found a path down by the river”

“Was there thirds for breakfast? I’m starving!”

Bahorel went to pester Jehan and Cosette for more food while Courfeyrac and Feuilly went to investigate the tyre-swing situation.

Eponine eventually convinced Combeferre to go exploring with her, only after promising Courfeyrac that they’d be back to try out the swing.

  


Grantaire was wandering aimlessly by the river when Cosette caught up with him.

“Finished with all of that washing up already? That’s superhuman. You and Jehan deserve a medal”

Cosette laughed, and Grantaire was reminded why everyone fell in love with her. He couldn’t help but grin back.

“So, everything alright?”

Grantaire didn’t even pretend to wonder what she was talking about. She just knew these things.

Like Jehan and Combeferre, she was annoyingly perceptive. But she did always have fantastic advice, so Grantaire acquiesced.

“Yeah, fine. Well… fine as in completely fucking awkward. I woke up and he was wrapped around me like a bloody koala. Things didn’t really go so well from there…”

“Oh”

They’d fallen into step. Cosette curled a hand around Grantaire’s arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. Well, his upper arm. She wasn’t quite tall enough.

“And what was his reaction?”

Grantaire laughed humourlessly.

“A lot less embarrassing than mine”

Cosette gave him a look.

“Ok so I woke up to Enjolras all over me so obviously I was going to.. you know.. react to that. Um.”

“I got it, Taire. Carry on”

“Right, anyway. _Enjolras,_ of course, wakes up to find that he’s practically molesting me in his sleep and.. actually when I put it that way he didn’t really react quite so badly after all…”

“Taire…”

“Sorry, yeah. So when he realised, he backed off, obviously. What else was he going to do? Make sweet love to me? Sorry. Anyway, he apologised, I said something along the lines of ‘no complaints from me’, which was just _great_ , and then he laughed. Like, a real laugh. Not mocking or derisive or anything, just a normal un-Enjolras-like laugh. So that’s pretty much the best reaction I could’ve hoped for, right?”

Cosette hummed, prompting him to continue.

“Anyway, of course I was going to fuck it up. So I turned over - _horrible decision, really -_ and he just looked _so good_. Like you have no idea. All dishevelled and sexy and just…”

“I think I can imagine exactly how that would’ve looked…”

Grantaire frowned down at her and shoved her with his hip.

“Hey! Back off. Go stare at Marius or something. No imagining Enjolras looking sexy.”

Cosette laughed loudly at that, and her laugh was like music, and Grantaire forgot to be faux-mad.

“So yeah. Then I kind of.. well.. I may or may not have moaned…”

“Oh, _Grantaire_ ”

“I know, I know! But seriously, can you blame me? I’ve never been in that situation before! I had no idea how I would react. So then I kind of wanted to die. And he just looked at me, for ages. And I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but it was something different.. something I’d never seem before. I don’t know. Anyway, then he came to and realised that there was a horny drunkard lying two feet away, promptly made his excuses, _which were bullshit by the way_ , and ran for it.”

Cosette was quiet for a while, and Grantaire started to worry.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure. Not without watching him for a while. But it’s interesting. You should stop freaking out, though. I don’t think any of this means what you think it means.”

And because Grantaire thought it meant that Enjolras was horrified and would never speak to him again and would probably ostracise him from the group and that was literally the only possibly explanation, he had absolutely no idea what the hell else Cosette could be thinking.

But her word was law in his books, so he just nodded.

“I’ll get back to you. Let me observe for a while” she smiled sweetly at him, planted a kiss on his cheek, and began to wander back to the campsite.

Leaving Grantaire standing by the riverbank, mollified, dumbfounded, confused, all of the above.

  


The tyre swing proved inescapable.

Courfeyrac swore he would prank anyone who didn’t try it. No one was willing to risk such horrors.

They were all lounging in the river, which was flowing lazily in the afternoon sun, and Courfeyrac was trying to determine which of them to use as guinea-pig.

“Grantaire, you swine! Get up here!”

Cheers erupted from the water all around him, and Bahorel splashed him in the face.

Grantaire groaned and pulled himself out onto the muddy bank, pushing his wet curls from his face.

“Let’s get this over with, then” he growled at Courfeyrac as he was passed the tyre.

He tried an original method - jumping onto the top of the tire and not sitting through the middle. It was mostly so he could make an speedier escape from the deadly swinging contraption. 

He rarely trusted things that had been engineered by Courfeyrac.

Said engineer ran him back and then pushed him off the bank…

and it was _awesome._

There was just enough bounce in the rope, and the tyre swung in an arch across the river and up till there were no trees above you and if you craned your neck back it felt as though you were flying.

Grantaire lost count of how many times he swung. Courfeyrac was gleeful.

The rest were all suddenly much more enthusiastic about the idea and were soon screeching from atop the riverbank, swinging on the tyre three-at-a-time, unceremoniously flinging unfortunate souls back into the river. The sound of their laughter was infectious. Grantaire found himself chuckling as he picked his way along the bank, away from them.

“Wait up!”

Grantaire recognised the jangle of Cosette’s bracelets.

“Hey”

“So” she began with a mischievous glint in her eye, “are you at all interested in hearing about my observations?”

“God, I don’t know. Only if it’s good news”

He kicked a stone into the water with his bare foot.

“Well whether something’s good news or bad news is always a little subjective, don’t you think?”

“Whatever. Hit me”

She punched him the bicep.

“Hey! Oh, hilarious” he rolled his eyes at her, but linked their arms together.

“Come on then, out with it”

“Well if you insist…”

Cosette then proceeded to talk, her clear, melodious voice carrying on the breeze.

She’d been watching Enjolras, since her morning meeting with Grantaire, and had a few interesting tales to tell.

How their sulky blonde Adonis had been noticeably more sulky. 

How his eyes had constantly been seeking out a certain sarcastic grin and shock of inky curls.

How Enjolras had agreed to play soccer (he _never_ agrees to play sports with Bahorel), which happened to put him closer to where Grantaire and Feuilly were lounging and sharing a pack of smokes.

There were other things, but Grantaire got distracted.

What Cosette was describing was Enjolras having a bad day, with a side of let’s-blame-Grantaire. He recognised all the main signifiers - increased grumpiness, lots of glares in his general direction.

The fact that Enjolras had played soccer, well, Grantaire wasn’t enough of an intellectual to ponder such a baffling concept. He was certain, however, that it had no direct correlation to him.

He let Cosette finish, though. Felt her hug him and saw her smile radiantly, watched her flit back towards the group.

That night Enjolras faced away from him in the tent, putting as much distance between them as physically possible.

It was a mere two and a half feet, but it seemed to Grantaire a void unconquerable.

He didn’t sleep.

  


They left the next day, in high spirits after one last swim in the river.

Musichetta growled at a dripping Bossuet when he attempted to sit in her car without putting a towel on the seat.

Enjolras was silent the whole way home.

Grantaire didn’t kick the back of his seat.

Neither mentioned the trip again.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be part of a verse, which is yet to be named or expanded.  
> I'm workin' on it!
> 
> Set within the modern AU which was created for this blog: textsfromles-amis.tumblr.com
> 
> Leave me suggestions, detailed critical analysis or funny anecdotes about how your day was below and I will bake you a thousand cupcakes.


End file.
